


actions not words

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, future!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future fic, with the baby steps in Killian and Emma’s tentative relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	actions not words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inhislight](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=inhislight).



> For inhislight, who wanted future!fic - I hope this is what you want.

**actions not words**

 

…

Emma’s lips still burn from where he kissed her (or, rather, she kissed him) in Neverland.  When her memories return, it’s the third thing she thinks of behind _Hook is in New York_ and _my parents are in danger._  

 _He kissed me_ , she thinks, remembering the aborted attempt at her door and the one prior, his words in the Echo Cave and his help in saving Henry.  She remembers the way that he looked at her before she got into the Bug and left Storybrooke, the word “Good” slipping from her lips because there was no way for her to channel any of her emotions into a coherent sentence.

Hook has found her, and he is bringing her home.

(She will wonder about whether or not if the kiss at her door was a True Love’s Kiss gone wrong, and it will only be after they have traveled to Oz and back, and defeated the Wicked Witch, and saved the memories of all those she loves, that she believes without a doubt that he is in love with her.)

…

The first time he spends the night is completely accidental and absolutely unromantic.

Mary-Margaret and David have just moved out, and Henry has been talking for weeks, ardently and with great fervor, about doing a Star Wars marathon movie weekend (“Come on, you guys, Han Solo is a _space_ pirate!”) and all of his plans have involved Hook.   Henry argues it’s about conditioning him to modern society, and she’s never been one to turn down a movie night with her kid, but she never thought Henry would insist on Hook with the logic that he’s her “best friend.”

She supposes it’s about right, since Hook is the closest thing to a friend she has right now in Storybrooke. Everyone else is still struggling with having their memories fucked with not once but twice in as many years – more if you count Emma’s entire lifespan. 

The evolution of her relationship with Hook is both surprising and not, though Emma can’t quite place her finger on the reason why it’s not, just that it seems as natural as breathing and has been since the moment she woke up from the curse all those months ago.   They make a good team despite her initial misgivings and she is not sure if it is because she trusts him or because he loves her. 

Emma’s had men claim to love her before: promises of futures together, diamond necklaces she’ll later pawn for gas money, champagne kisses and the sound of an angry wife breaking the windshield of the Bug with a baseball bat (she paid for that repair with a pair of diamond studs).   This is different, and she knows it. 

The declaration occurred so long ago that it’s practical a distant memory but the kind that lingers, uneasily, in the back of your mind, uncertain about where it should reside.  And Hook, he’s backed up every single one of those vague words with deeds.  He saved her from her own curse.  He brought her home.  He reunited her with her parents.  He went with her to Oz.  He saved her family from the Witch’s spell.

Everything has been done for her.

She doesn’t know the words or the actions that she should say at any given intersection, and so she doesn’t do anything except exist in this tenuous place where he is her friend – her _best_ friend according to Henry – and she tries to be his.  And so she spends her Saturday night watching the original trilogy – not the prequels – sandwiched between an excited Henry and an incredulous Hook.

And that is how she ends up spending the night with him.

It’s not romantic – not if you count having two men drooling on you as romantic, which she doesn’t, but at one point she had Henry on her lap and Hook on her shoulder, neither of them watching the movie, both of them passed out from a lethal combination of pizza and Cheetos.  It’s not sexual, because Hook snores lightly when he sleeps which is actually really adorable in a weird way.

Emma shifts, moves Henry, cradles him gently.  The snoring stops, and the weight of Hook is removed from her shoulder.

“Swan,” he says groggily, then his eyebrows shoot up and he’s wide awake.  His face starts to color and he stammers, “I apologize, I did not mean to – “and she smiles at the way that he is so embarrassed to be compromising her in any way.

“It’s not a big deal,” she tells him, because it’s not.  She adjusts Henry and moves her now-numb arm before looking over at Hook.  Even though he looks alert Emma can tell that he’s not completely, and yet he shifts too, moving so that she can lean against him if she wants.

She does, so she leans back, finding that she fits as comfortably against him as he did a few minutes ago.  They’re like a weird lopsided domino pile, one stacked on top of the other, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So this movie is about space pirates?” Hook asks, breath warm against her cheek, and she shrugs.

“It’s about a lot of things,” she tells him, feeling sleep settle into her bones. “Are you enjoying it?”

“I’m enjoying your company, Swan,” he responds, and even though she knows it’s meant to be flirtatious, it comes off as genuine,

“Zip your lip, Romeo, the ewoks are about to save the day,” she teases him as she snuggles back into his arms.

“And who is Romeo, Swan?” he asks, and she just shakes her head (there’s so much she’s going to have to teach him about this realm, though English literature was never her strong suit) and adjust the blanket. 

Emma wakes up much later to the menu screen from Return of the Jedi on the TV, Henry gone, and Hook’s arm around her.  She freaks out for a moment until she realizes that Henry’s door is now closed so he must have gone to sleep at some point – and left her here with Hook, which is not uncomfortable.  He is still asleep, and she’s tired so she pulls the fleece blanket over them and sinks back into his warmth.

She wakes up the next morning to find herself alone.  There is an apology note from Hook about overstaying his welcome on the coffee table which she reads once, then twice, trying to determine exactly what he thinks he did in the terse yet poetic lines he’s left her.   It makes her shake her head, because she’s seen him in the heat of battle – a true warrior – and she’s seen him out-snark Regina and seen him drink with Robin and her father and yet…when it comes to her, he’s simultaneously a shameless flirt and a blushing schoolboy, shifting roles so quickly that it’s giving her whiplash.

She’s not sure what experience he’s had with women other than Milah, and he’s had no experience with women in this modern day and age, and so he’s just going to have to get used to the fact that if they’re going to be friends, that he can inconvenience her all he wants and she really won’t care. Besides, in the grand scheme of Emma’s life, being her pillow is the least inconvenient thing anyone’s ever done to her.

The next time she sees him at Granny’s, seated at the counter drinking coffee, she stops and whispers in his ear, “If you’re going to apologize for anything, apologize for snoring.”

She swears he blushes and it’s okay, she’d be lying if she wasn’t blushing a little too at his reaction.

…

Life is never easy for the Savior and friends.                  

Somehow a Kraken is summoned and the _Jolly Roger_ is destroyed.  David barely saves him before the ship goes down and they all watch from the dock as it slips beneath the waves.  The look of loss on Hook’s face makes Emma reach for him, place her hand on his shoulder (she doesn’t know what to say so she just sits with him, hoping it is enough and knowing it probably won’t be.)

He doesn’t talk about it, even when she asks, and she doesn’t push because that’s not who she is.  She has been through enough pain and loss that she understands how important just being there for someone can be.

“If you need to talk, you know where to find me,” she tells him. 

Hook nods.  “Thank you,” is his response, though he doesn’t look away from the water. 

He takes up residence at Granny’s.  At first, he does not leave his room so Emma and David bring food to him.  He tries to put on a brave face, but there is a haunted look in his eyes and a restless energy that fills him, as if he doesn’t know what to do or where to go.  She asks Ariel to dive below and find what she can of his personal possessions, but all that the mermaid can salvage is a sextant and a locket – everything else is water-logged and destroyed beyond recognition.

Emma brings his possessions to him in his rented room, watches as he opens the box and sifts through the items. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Swan,” he tells her as he pulls a piece of paper, stained blue with ink, out of the box, and Emma leaves him reluctantly, her heart heavy and her stomach uneasy. He tells her thank you on the way out, but his words are muffled by the closing door.

To see him go from being a swaggerific pirate to this quiet, sad man troubles her in so many ways, and makes her feel helpless.  She’s not someone who can solve problems so she is surprised by her reaction.  With David’s help she coaxes him out of the room, first to eat at Granny’s, and then to accompany her on ride-alongs or to help her with police work.  Hook agrees, probably because of who is asking and less because he actually cares.

He still doesn’t talk about the _Jolly Roger_.

“Thank you,” he tells her one night, while they drive around town.

“For what?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

“For being a friend.” Hook looks out the window, doesn’t meet her eyes.  “It’s been a very long time since I had one.”

“Of course.” Emma reaches for his hand, gives it a comforting squeeze knowing that it cannot be enough. “It’s what friends do.”

His plight consumes her waking thoughts, but it is her son who actually finds a solution.

“You should invite Hook to live here,” Henry tells Emma one morning.  Emma almost spits out her coffee in surprise.

“We only have two bedrooms,” she reminds him, and he folds his hands against the table, like he about to deliver bad news.

“I know – he can have mine and I can live with Regina.” Henry stops, looking nervous.  “If that’s okay.  I can still spend time with you like I always do but I don’t think it’s fair when I have two bedrooms and Hook lost his ship.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something but doesn’t know what to say.  It’s a very thoughtful suggestion and she can’t blame him.  He’s getting to the age when he’ll want more privacy, she knows, and Regina’s house is larger than the loft.  Still, it is enough to make her breath catch at what a wonderful young man her son is becoming.

“I’m fine with it,” she says.  “I’ll talk to him later.”

She picks up Hook and two take-out boxes full of Granny’s cheeseburgers and fries for their daily ride along.   They drive down to the dock and eat, and Hook keeps looking out at the water, at where his ship used to be.   They walk out to Henry’s castle, and sit in the wooden play fort.

At first, she’s not sure how to broach the topic.  Emma knows she’s a horrible roommate – she likes her space, and she likes her things to not be messed with, and while she pays the rent on time she’s never been the kind of girl that other girls willingly want to live with (until Mary-Margaret, and that’s probably because she’s her mother).   She’s so out of practice with living with someone other than family that she’s almost afraid he’ll grow frustrated with her and whatever nascent friendship is forming between them will be lost forever.

That is, until she remembers how he found her, and stayed with her when she was rude as hell, all while trying to get her to remember.  That if she is an introvert, Hook is an extrovert and probably needs people just as much as she needs her ‘me-time’.  That this is what friends do for each other when the going gets tough: they help each other out.

“Henry’s moving out,” she tells Hook.  She is unable to look at him, so she stares down at her food.  “I’m looking a new roommate.”

He says nothing.  The silence is deafening, so she rushes to fill it with more words.

“I don’t like being alone,” Emma adds, even though that’s a lie, “and you and I both know Granny will kick you out eventually.”

“Aye, that she will,” Hook agrees.  “But you’re lying to me.”

“Am I?” she asks, and Hook plays with his fries, looking down at the food before looking back at her.

“You are someone who requires their privacy.  Are you sure that my sharing quarters with you will not be difficult for you?”  Hook is serious as he says this, studying her face to gauge her reaction.

“I don’t mind you,” she tells him truthfully.  

He nods.  “Thank you for your honesty.  I would be delighted to live with you, Emma.”

She likes it when he calls her ‘Emma’ because it decreases the distance between them.  Most of the time he calls her ‘Swan’ and when he’s being flirtatious she’s ‘my lady’ but ‘Emma’ is different.  ‘Emma’ is personal, and intimate, and it makes her heart race every time he says it.

“Good,” she says.  “Glad to hear it.”

Hook smiles, and even if it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, it’s a welcome change. “I knew that I was growing on you, love.  Are you sure that this isn’t just your way of getting me alone?”

She can’t help but smile back.  “In your dreams.”

“You’d be surprised what I dream, darling,” he tells her, voice barely above a purr, and it makes her blood pool in her stomach and her heart race, so she looks away, focuses on taking a bite of her burger and chewing.   When she glances back at him, he’s looking out at the water again but there is a small smile on the corner of his mouth and she knows that, while it’s not his ship, it may be enough (it’s the thought that counts, after all).

…

It is not surprising that he has little to move in – the clothes on his back, his sword, his hook, the few things that were salvaged from his ship.  He is still learning modern technology, and so while Henry races around the apartment showing him how everything works, Emma watches Hook.  He looks overwhelmed, and she can hardly blame him.  He has lost his ship, he’s trapped in this realm, and he has few personal effects of his own.  Emma doesn’t have much either, but she has more than he does which is saying something.

She sips her hot chocolate and watches Henry’s whirlwind tour die down, and Hook returns to her side.

“You have a lovely home, Emma,” he tells her, reaching for his hot chocolate.  “I appreciate your invitation for me to share it with you, though I’m not sure I’ll master your modern inventions.  The shower seems particularly confusing.” 

Emma shakes her head, “Oh, it’s super-easy, I’ll show you…” but as she talks, Hook smirks, and she realizes that even though he started out sincere in his thanks, now she’s given him an avenue for reprisal.

“Oh will you now, love?” he asks, but it’s innuendo without much of its usual gusto.  She decides to play along, just like old times.

“If you’re good,” she teases him (and if he chokes on his cocoa, she pretends not to notice).  “I was thinking we could head to the store, find some things to redecorate,” she tells him.  “It’s like Anthropologie threw up in here.”

Hook agrees, even if he doesn’t understand the words coming out of her mouth, and so the three of them pile into the Bug.  There is the equivalent of a Target at the edge of town and so Emma fills up the cart with random odds and ends – a new toothbrush holder and a toothbrush for Hook, a new set of towels – and then wheels the cart over to the men’s clothing section. Henry is growing like a weed and new clothes are always needed, but she catches Hook studying a dark blue button-down shirt and she stops.

“When is your birthday?” she asks.  Hook looks up, surprised.

“April,” he responds, and Emma smiles, sure of what she will do.

“So two months from now,” she says.  “You know, I think I still owe you a present from last year.”  She glances down at the shirt.  “That would look good on you.”

Hook looks back to the shirt, hanging on the rack, and brings his hand up to scratch his brow.  When he looks back at her, he is all earnestness and something else (fear? Why would he be afraid?).  At this point, Henry rounds the corner and, seeing Hook in the middle of modern clothes, takes over the whole process.

“Captain! Are you going to get rid of your leather jacket? You should totally wear this – “a plaid shirt and novelty tee are pulled from a nearby rack – “Mom, is he really going – “

“Only if he wants to,” Emma says, smiling at Hook. Henry’s enthusiasm has made his expression change – gone is the earnestness, replaced by amusement.

“Very well, lad,” he tells Henry. “I trust that you will continue to help me acclimate to your realm so tell me, young man – what is the latest fashion in this realm?”

Henry’s fashion sense is that of a thirteen year old boy, so Emma steps in occasionally while selecting jeans and shirts that aren’t too kitsch-laden or full of references that Hook doesn’t understand.  She’s helping him button a blue plaid shirt while Henry runs off to find more when Hook’s hand closes over her own.

“Emma,” he says in a low voice, and she is suddenly aware of how intimate they are right now in this close position.   She doesn’t look up at first, but when she does, his eyes are shining in the fluorescent light of this ridiculous big-box store and she has to bite her lip to keep from saying anything.

“Thank you,” he tells her.  “For everything, including these ridiculous clothes.”

“You don’t like them?” she asks with a frown, but he shakes his head and she realizes their hands are still together, one resting atop the other. He shakes his head, huffs out a laugh.

“No – I mean, it’s a bit strange to be wearing so little after years of wearing leathers – but…” he trails off, removes his hand, turns to look in the mirror.  “I appreciate your kindness,” he tells her, catching her gaze in the mirror and she smiles. Her fingers flex, because she wants to reach out and touch him, but she doesn’t because Henry comes crashing around the corner with more shirts and the moment is lost.

Emma clenches her fingers into a fist at her side as Hook turns to the mirror, adjusts the collar of his shirt, admires himself from all angles (because really, like that man needs to feed his vanity more?)

“Do they have belts in your realm, lad?” Killian asks Henry, who rushes back off in search of more clothing.  Then, his eyes meet Emma’s in the mirror and the look could only be described as ‘smoldering’.

She swallows.

“Penny for your thoughts, Swan?” he asks with a wink in the mirror.  She takes a moment to look him over, then does it again, making sure to be completely obvious in her objectification because two can play at that game.

“I suppose you’ll do,” she says after some time, adding a shrug and an eyeroll, and damn if he doesn’t look simultaneously amused and offended at once.

“You wound me,” he tells her, hand dramatically placed against his chest, and she shakes her head and bites her lip to keep from calling him a diva.

Their eyes lock in the mirror, and Emma can’t help the slow smile that forms on her face, or the way that they seem to be able to communicate just through looks (it’s been like this as long as she remembers, this ability to understand each other so well).

“You look good, Hook.”  She smiles wider.  “You look really good.”

If he blushes, she pretends not to notice – it’s the friendly thing to do.

They leave with several bags full of clothing, much to Hook’s dismay (“I will find a way to repay you”) and her instance that this is what friends do.  But when she comes downstairs the next morning to see him wearing the plaid shirt and jeans she helped pick out, her heart skips a beat.  She smiles at him, and when he smiles back, it reaches his eyes this time.

…

Having Hook as a roommate is interesting.  She did not expect him to be so organized or so orderly but she expects that is the naval officer in him, the one that seems to bubble to the surface over the swagger and surety of the pirate more often than not lately.

The loft has never been cleaner.  He keeps to his own space.   He contributes as much as possible to the household.  He is even learning to cook. And it’s nice to spend time with him, to come home and curl up next to him on the couch and watch TV.  It’s nice to just _be_ with him – nicer than she ever anticipated.

Hook, however, is so very obviously bored, even if he tries to hide it well.  She doesn’t know what the daily demands of a ship’s captain are but Storybrooke is just not quite cutting it.  When her bookshelf is reorganized for the third time and the counter’s so clean that she can eat off of it, she makes a decision because he is her friend and she wants to help him.

Hook needs a job. 

 “What do you think he could do?” she asks Henry one day at Granny’s.

 “He can be the harbormaster!” Henry proclaims, pulling a piece of paper out of his bag.  He unfolds it carefully, spreading it out on the table and smoothing out the corners.  Emma slides it closer.

Henry has taken the time to create an intricate flowchart that assigns jobs to everyone from the Enchanted Forest.  Hook is clearly slated to be ‘Harbormaster’ which Emma doesn’t really know much about.  Yet, Henry has slotted him into this, and so she trusts him. She’ll just Google it later.

“You really spend a lot of time thinking about this, don’t you?” she asks, and Henry rolls his eyes dramatically and says, “Mom, _someone_ needs to think about it!” as if it’s completely obvious that the modern lives of fairy tale characters require a considerable amount of attention and care.

“You should talk to Regina,” Henry informs her on his way out the door.  The chart sits on the table where he was, and Emma picks it up, studies it again (Robin Hood as sheriff’s deputy?), then folds it up and puts it in her purse.

Emma takes it to Regina in the mayor’s office.

“Have you seen this?” she asks the other woman.  “Our son is productive.”

“Indeed he is – do we even need a harbormaster?” Regina asks.  “And do you need yet another deputy, Sheriff Swan?”

“I don’t know – you’re the mayor,” Emma says, crossing her arms across her chest.  She shrugs her shoulders.   “Besides, I think he’s right about giving Hook a job - it’s the least we can do considering his ship was destroyed protecting us.”

“As the mayor, I can authorize you to use your best judgment in this situation, and if you think that it would benefit the town, I can’t see any harm in at least asking.”  Regina folds her hands over the flow-chart, looking up at Emma.

Emma herself is surprised the other woman agreed so easily, but things have changed since the Wicked Witch was defeated – even since Emma reunited with everyone back in the Enchanted Forest – and this kinder, gentler version of Regina certainly takes some getting used to (not to begrudge matters, just saying…)

“Can we pay him too?” Emma presses.  “I know Storybrooke isn’t really supposed to exist but we can’t just expect someone to accept a job without compensation.”

“Do you get paid, Sheriff?” Regina raises an eyebrow.  “The town may be magic, but part of that magic means that ships do dock in our harbor and all of our municipal staff earns a steady living.” Regina winks at her.   “Go take care of your pirate, Emma.”

Emma is outside of city hall before she realizes that she’s not at all offended by Hook being called her ‘pirate’.  In fact, she actually likes the sound of it.

It is that night, while they eat spaghetti that Hook made, that Emma broaches the topic.

“I met with Regina this morning.  She told me that we need a harbormaster,” Emma says.  “She thought you might be the right man for the job.”

“And what, pray-tell, does a harbormaster do, sheriff?” Hook asks, twirling the spaghetti around his fork and Emma has to remember that this is Captain Hook, not just some guy who belongs in this realm.  He is wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, he is sitting at her kitchen table, and everything is so different from when she first met him that she is constantly doing a double-take at how easily he fits into her life.

“They’re legally in charge of the harbor – they document shipping and freight,” she tells him, trying to remember everything she learned when she Googled the position at Granny’s earlier today

“Customs, then, so to speak.”

“They also make sure that federal regulations are being followed,” Emma adds.  “And they get to arrest people who don’t follow the rules.”

 “Customs _and_ law enforcement, then.”  He smirks at her.

Emma nods.  “There’s a generous salary package and benefits like healthcare.”  When Hook looks at her with a glazed-over expression, she adds, “And you could help me when it comes to monitoring the harbor.  There’s a desk set aside in the sheriff’s office for you.”

This makes him smile, and he raises an eyebrow.  “So you’re finally acknowledging that we make a good team.  I knew you’d come around sooner than later, Swan.”

“I’m acknowledging you’re the best man to fill a vacant position,” she says, spearing her meatball with a fork, “but yeah, we do make a good team.”

He raises his eyebrows more, and she’s almost expecting him to add some sort of innuendo or comment about them being a great team in bed, but he doesn’t.  Instead, he reaches across the table for her hand, and she threads her fingers through his.

“I don’t know exactly what I’ve done to deserve your kindness, Emma,” he says with a sad smile, “but I am most grateful for it.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush,” she says quietly, squeezing his fingers and then letting go (the loss of contact makes her dizzy) and she picks her fork back up.  “Your food’s getting cold.”  She tucks her hair behind her ear, tries to ignore the way her skin feels like it’s on fire.

“Aye, it is,” he says, withdrawing his hand from across the table, once again tucking into his food.  He glances up at her from time to time, but Emma tries to maintain an indifferent façade.  The longer he stays here, the more she feels like she needs to deflect everything, to make sure her walls are high, because even though his words align with his actions, there’s always something lurking in the wings to remove this false sense of security.

She thinks about her behavior that night, lying in bed, remembering that Hook is just below her in his own room.  She wants, more than anything, to understand how she feels for him, but she’s absolutely incapable of putting it into words.

…

Their first fight happens before anything else.

Emma’s not sure why she says it but she does – in retaliation, in a fit of pique, in something else.  It’s the whiskey running through her veins and the way that he tilts his head when he looks at her, like he knows all of her secrets.

No, it’s probably the whiskey.

It’s been a rough day for both of them (storms harming ships, storms causing trouble in town) and so they’re seated at the counter, shot glasses in front of them and a bottle of whiskey between them.  Emma pours the shots and they ask each other questions, sinking deeper into understanding of each other as the evening passes and she gets progressively more and more wasted.

He makes an off-handed comment and she decides to ask back, because she’s been wondering about this a lot lately.  She knows that he loves her, knows that there is something he is waiting for, and so she asks, “Do you think you’ve won my heart yet?”

The words fall out of her mouth without much forethought, and crash against him like a wave.  He seems to instantly sober up at her declaration, though he tries to play it cool.  He studies her carefully and then says, “Not yet” in as calm of a tone as he can muster.  “No matter, I am in this for the long haul.” The last phrase is spoken flippantly – too flippantly for Emma.

 “And what if I don’t love you?” she challenges, because she hates this feeling of being judged, of having assumptions made about her.

He looks down at his shot for a moment but she can see how he struggles to hide something from her.  When he looks back up, there is no smile on his face and the light is missing from his eyes.

“For someone who claims to have been in love, Swan, you certainly don’t know much about it,” he tells her, voice low and cold.   The way he says her name is most definitely not friendly; instead, it’s almost like a push, shoving her across the table and away from him, creating considerable distance between them.

“You’re telling me that you would be completely fine – that you would still love me even if the feeling wasn’t mutual?”  Her blood is on fire, as she burns with righteous indignation.

She watches him poke the inside of his mouth with his tongue, watches as he clenches his jaw.  He does not look at her again.

“You’re very presumptuous, Swan,” he says, once again using her last name in vain. He pours himself a final shot and then slips off the stool, heading to his room without saying anything else.

The click of the door lock echoes through the silent loft.

Emma studies the shot glass and then pours herself another as well.  And then another.  And then another.  And when she stumbles up the stairs to her room and collapses on her bed, all she can see is the way that he didn’t look at her before he left the room.

When she wakes up, she’s hung-over and full of self-loathing.  She realizes that the conversation was not appropriate, that she shouldn’t have treated his feelings so poorly.  She knows that he loves her, knows that he has put his feelings aside for her and for her needs and she’s been the exact opposite of the friend she’s trying to be – instead, she’s been a giant bitch.

She makes her way to the bathroom looking for aspirin, and then heads to the kitchen for water.  It takes her some time to realize that Hook’s door is open, and that the loft is empty save for her.

Hook is gone.

She panics.

There are still clothes in his dresser and his hook is still in the top drawer, and so she leans against the door with a sigh that threatens to become a sob if she doesn’t clasp her hands over her mouth and hold it in.

Emma doesn’t shower.  She grabs a sleeve of crackers from the pantry and sits on the couch, sipping water and eating crackers and waiting for Hook to get home.  There’s no way to call him because his work cellphone sits on the bedside table (it’s not like he uses it on a good day, so leaving it on a bad day doesn’t mean anything, but she stares at it for a long time, wondering if she should call someone to find him.  She doesn’t.)

She waits for most of the day, frustration turning to dread turning to sadness, and when he finally does come back in the early evening - when the door finally opens and he enters - his eyes fall on her shattered face and he is at her side almost immediately.

“Is everything all right?” he asks, kneeling beside her.  “What’s wrong?”

His caring is too much, after all she’s done.  She does not deserve it.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she tells him, voice barely above a whisper.  “I should never have said anything, I don’t know why I said it, I – “

“Emma,” he says softly.  “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not, it’s –“  He needs to realize that it’s not all right, that it’s not okay for her to abuse their friendship -

“It’s nothing,” he repeats.  “It was the whiskey.”

She nods, because that much is the truth, yet she doesn’t say anything.  Instead, she closes her eyes tight against the shame that’s been building up inside of her since this morning.  She hears rather than sees him head into the kitchen, and after some time he returns, hot mug of tea in hand.  He coaxes her to drink it, and smiles at her reassuringly when she does.

“Maybe you’re right,” Emma says when the tea is done.  He is seated next to her on the couch, and she tries to smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes.  “Maybe you’re right about me not knowing anything about love.”

“That was harsh of me,” he says, wincing, but she doesn’t think that’s true.  “I think you know quite a bit about loving your son and your family, but sometimes I don’t think you understand much about love itself.” He looks down at his hand, where it rests clenched on his leg, and relaxes the fingers.  Then, he nods, as if he’s having a private conversation with himself.  “To love someone – _really_ love someone, Swan, regardless if they’re your family or friend or something more – means accepting all that they are, and all that you can ever be to them.” He glances at her empty mug.  “Shall I get you more tea?”

“No, I’m fine,” she tells him.   “Thanks.”

“Of course, Swan.”  He nods, and stands, heading for his room.  He closes the door behind him and Emma stares at the mug, stares hard as the bits of tea leaves scattered at the bottom.

He’s still calling her Swan with that vague, impersonal lilt to his voice.

It’s not his words that break her as much as the distance he has placed between them with the way he speaks it.  And she has done this – she has created a chasm between them with her inability to allow herself to be loved, with her selfishness in taking what he has given her without giving him anything in return.

_All that you can ever be to them…_

She remains on the couch, mug in hand, when Hook leaves his room again in sweatpants and a t-shirt.  He glances over at her, features neutral, and then to get a glass of water from the kitchen.  He heads into the bathroom, and closes the door.

She doesn’t know what he’s thinking but she wants to know desperately, because this day she’s spent thinking that he left – this day she’s spent reveling in shame – it’s taught her something.

If he left her – if she never saw him again, if he walked out of the door and out of her life, she would understand because he has given her so much and she has thrown that in his face.  He deserves better than Emma Swan, hot mess.

But if he left, she would be utterly despondent because the thought of him not being in her life, even for a moment, because of something she did – it’s overwhelmed her more than she ever thought it could.

Emma knows, in that moment, that she may not love him like he wants to be loved - not like a lover (not yet, a voice tells her softly, a voice she’s trying hard to ignore) but most definitely like a best friend.   Maybe even more than a best friend.

She’s rinsing out the mug in the sink when he exits the bathroom.  As he crosses by the kitchen, she calls out to him.

“Thank you, Killian,” she says, “for the tea.”

He stops in his tracks and turns to her, and the look on his face at her using his first name – her heart catches in her throat at the emotions present before he schools his features into a neutral gaze once more.

“Of course, Emma,” he responds.  “Good night.”

When the door to his bedroom clicks behind him, and when she lets out the breath she didn’t think she had been holding, Emma feels different both inside and out.

He called her ‘Emma’.

It makes her smile.

…

Things change after that night.

There is a wariness to ~~Hook~~ Killian when he is around her (she intentionally uses his name in all conversation both internal and external so no wonder the man might be a bit apprehensive) but things fall back into their normal routine.  The easiness that existed around them returns, slowly – slower than Emma would like, but she can hardly blame him.

She wonders, often and for absurd lengths of time, about the way that he explained love.  For someone who flirts mercilessly with her, she is not surprised that his words are so powerful, but what makes her linger is the resigned way in which he spoke.  She understands all too well that she is a difficult person to love, but to take from him without giving anything back is just selfish, and Emma has never been that.

And so she makes a conscious effort to show just how much she appreciates their friendship.  He likes pretzels and peanut butter (both separate and together) so she buys them at the store.  He likes to be up early in the morning, and even though she prefers to sleep late, she wakes up early to have coffee with him.  He likes to watch soccer and so Emma learns to enjoy it with him.  He seems to appreciate the company.

They take turns treating each other to dinner at Granny’s on Wednesday nights, because she always has Henry on Thursdays (he spends Friday with Regina and Robin and Roland, and Emma is grateful for the family he is gaining).  Killian enjoys the steady paycheck, even if the job can be tedious (“Swan, you never informed me that there would be so many forms that must be filled out thrice when once would suffice!”) and she’s learned that his flirtatious remarks increase when he is happy with himself – and she does not mind that at all.

It’s their third Wednesday dinner in a row when Killian gets up to use the restroom and Ruby slips into the booth across from Emma.

“So…” she starts, “how’s the date going?”  She raises her eyebrows suggestively.

Emma is struck dumb by Ruby’s comment.  “What?”

“Come on, Emma, he’s paid for your meal at least twice this month.  I have dropped three trays tonight trying to see if you’d notice me but you only have eyes for each other.”  She lowers her voice.  “You even moved in together.”

Emma reaches for her water and takes a drink, trying to steady her racing heart.  _This isn’t what it looks like_ , she wants to say.  _We haven’t even kissed yet._   _We haven’t done **anything** yet._

But when she thinks back about all the effort she’s made in the past month, and all the things that he does for her…

Why _aren’t_ they dating?

Isn’t dating just getting to know someone at a deeper, more intimate level and figuring out if the two of you click?  Isn’t that the best way to give this a shot and to determine exactly what she feels for him?

She is saved by Killian’s return.  Ruby stands up and leaves quickly, shooting Emma a pointed glance over her shoulder, and Killian looks confused.

“Ready to go?” Emma asks, standing up quickly and grabbing the check.

She suggests they take the long way home, and he agrees.  It is still spring in Storybrooke, the air crisp and clear and she’s not sure if it’s the cold breeze off the water or the feelings running through her body that makes her shiver so much.  She can take a guess.

“Ruby thinks we’re dating,” Emma blurts out, feeling very much like her mother right now.  Killian shoves his hand into his coat pocket, and shrugs his shoulders.

“Does she now?” he asks, face carefully neutral.

“Do you even know what dating is?” she asks, nudging his shoulder with her own.  Killian laughs, and nudges back.

“I do watch your television shows,” he informs her.  “It’s just a modern form of courtship.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Emma says.  She wraps her arms around her body.  “So I was thinking if…what if we tried this? Tried dating?”

“Emma,” he starts to say, turning towards her as they circle around the town hall and back to the loft.  “You don’t owe me – “

“This isn’t about you, okay? I mean it is but – what if I wanted to do it?”

When the words leave her mouth she realizes that she’s already been dating him, she just hasn’t thought about it that way.  Not only that, but she really does want this – really does want to try dating him.  Wants him as more than a best friend, every single fiercely attractive and complicated inch of him.

Things shift in her mind, and Killian slips into a completely different category, from ‘best friend’ to ‘something more’, and she stops, turns to face him, desperate to see what he is thinking.

“Emma,” he starts to say, then thinks better of himself.  He closes his mouth, opens it again, and says, “If the lady insists.”

She snorts out a laugh, then covers her face.  “You sure are a charmer.”

“Three hundred years of practice,” he says with a wink.

Dating him changes nothing about their relationship, except their first kiss as a couple happens when she’s unloading the dishwasher.  She brushes past him to put away the plates after dinner, he moves her out of the way with his hand when he puts away the flatware, and as she turns to return the glasses to their proper place, he stops her.  The glasses are removed from her hand and placed on the counter and before she can mount an objection, his hand is on her face, his hook is drawing her closer, and his lips are pressing against hers gently, then insistently.  She responds, wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him closer.  She deepens the kiss, opening his mouth, opening to him, and it is with great sadness that he eventually pulls away from her with a groan.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for domesticity,” she teases, brushing her nose against his. 

“Oh, believe me love, it _incredibly_ attractive when someone like you voluntarily helps around the house,” he responds, taking a step back.  Emma feigns offense but she know he’s right - she’s usually the person who drops her jacket on the nearest chair and collapses on the couch. 

She is tempted to reach for the spray nozzle by the sink, tempted to make a joke about how clean they can really get, but she doesn’t.  This relationship will flow of its own accord, she knows, and so she doesn’t rush.

(They do spend the night together, but that’s because she crawls into his bed trying to annoy him by messing up the sheets, and he tells her to make herself at home. She falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, his arms holding her close, and it is the best sleep she has in ages.)

…

In April, Emma invites her family over for Killian’s birthday.  She doesn’t know when his birthday is, and neither does he, so she spitballs and picks a date somewhere in the middle of the month.  She does not tell him, though she does ask him lots of questions about what flavors he likes and his favorite foods.  Mary-Margaret bakes a chocolate cake, David brings beer, and Henry manages to finagle an invitation for Regina, Robin, and Roland.  Emma convinces Robin to distract Killian while they set up, and while Regina directs Roland and Henry as they set the table, Mary-Margaret helps Emma make pizza in the kitchen.

“This is really sweet,” her mother points out, and Emma shrugs.

“It’s his birthday – we should celebrate,” Emma says, opening the oven door and inserting a pizza that the boys decorated (they made a pirate ship out of green peppers and mushrooms). 

“Not just this – the two of you.”  Mary-Margaret is smiling at her, one hand resting on the kitchen counter and the other on her growing bump (THAT took some adjustment) and Emma shrugs.

“We haven’t been dating that long,” she tells her mother as she wipes down the counter. 

“But you are head over heels in love with him and don’t deny it – I know true love when I see it,” Mary-Margaret tells her.   Emma stops what she’s doing.

She’s never considered this to be love until her mother calls it that – she’s always considered what she has with Killian to be an amazing friendship that also includes pretty awesome make out sessions (they’re taking it slow, because both of them are so damaged, so other than amazing foreplay sex hasn’t entered the conversation yet).   But what if this really is true love?

There is a knock at the door and everyone assembles by the table, ready to greet the birthday boy.  When Robin opens the door and walks in with Killian, they all shout, “Happy birthday!” 

He looks surprised, and slightly frightened for a moment, but when Killian’s eyes meet hers, and she smiles, he smiles in return and it makes her realize that maybe this is what love is.  It’s not star-crossed lovers like her parents – it is friendship and it is easy and it is so much more than the sum of its parts.

Dinner goes well – Killian loves the pirate ship – and they eat cake and open presents.  After the clean-up, and when everyone has left, Emma finds Killian sitting at the table and, looking through a book on sailing ships that David bought him.  She nudges him with her hip, and he scoots back so that she can sit on his lap.  She kisses the top of his head, and sighs when his arms close around her.

“Happy birthday,” she tells him, resting her chin on his head.

“Emma,” he starts to say, and she moves so that she can look at him.  “Emma, this was marvelous.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  She smiles.   “Anything else you want on your birthday?”

Killian smiles and winks.  “I can think of something I’d very much like,” he tells her, lips moving against her neck.

Emma gets the idea pretty quickly just what he wants, because she wants it too.

The first time they sleep together is everything and nothing all at once.

It is everything, because the press of his skin against Emma’s makes her tremble, the way that he looks at her when he kisses her is too much to bear so she closes her eyes.  It is everything because it is too much and not enough (he can never been close enough, never ever  and she wants more, craves it like a cool drink on a summer day, craves it like oxygen, he makes her feel alive with the movement of his hips - )

It is nothing, because it is the first time, and she can tell by the way that he smiles and brushes her hair back from her face, the way that his lips linger on her brow in veneration, that it will most definitely not be the last.

Afterwards, they lay in bed, in each other’s arms, skin against skin, loathe to separate themselves.  She threads her fingers through his, puts their joined hands over her heart.

“I love you,” she says, because it’s the truth, because it’s always been the truth even if she never really admitted it to anyone but herself.

“I know this,” he tells her with a smile. “You may never say it but I know.”

“How did you know?” she whispers.

“Your actions speak louder than words,” he says, as he leans in to kiss her again.


End file.
